By the Seaside
by coincidentally
Summary: The sea gives and the sea takes. The tragic consequences of a simple misunderstanding. Modern AU.


**By the Seaside**

 _Sing, O Venus, radiant daughter of Dione,_

 _Of the two lovers_

 _Whose fates by your divine enchantment_

 _Lie amidst the thrashing waves_

 _—_

I woke to the sound of rain and thunder.

Peeling the covers off, I fumbled around in the dark before slipping on my shoes and stumbling to the window. I was met with a relentless onslaught of water pelting against the window panes.

Periodic flashes of lightning illuminated the entire room briefly, painting long shadows across the creaky floorboards and eerily redefining the features of a small portraiture of Venus in one corner.

Typical.

At least, typical in a sleepy New England town where the seasons could be divided into winter and almost winter, but I suppose keeping a memorabilia of the goddess of love could be subject to debate.

The rain stopped like Someone Up There had turned off a leaky faucet.

Well, they don't call it Hell's Waters for nothing. The inlet's capricious tendency to brew up a storm only to dissipate it just as quickly has earned its infamous moniker. Ten minute storms are considered normal this time of the year, and some of them are just downright vicious. Added to the geography of the bay which consists of rocky protrusions, the waters are treacherous. It's a nightmare for those trying to navigate it which may explain my father's frequent fishing excursions.

I do know one person who, if he is as skilled as he boasts to be, may be able to traverse the waters without too much difficulty. Funny, I was supposed to meet him about…four hours ago.

I can't believe I left him stranded at the docks.

I threw on a coat and rushed to the docks which weren't all that far away because the small cottage my father and I shared was conveniently located by the sea and thus received the brunt of the storms. Pa once mentioned something about how Ma loved the sea, but when I gave him an inquiring look, he turned away, shaking his head and muttering to himself.

The docks were as empty as the licorice jar that was collecting dust in the candy maker's shop.

This was odd; he would always wait at the docks even in the ungodly hours of the morning. Perhaps he docked near the lighthouse situated on a lone outcrop that jutted out into the sea. He always boasted of his skill to navigate around the jagged rocks with ease.

The imposing structure painted in alternating bands of faded red and white loomed as I approached, breathless from a long run. The wind was whipping my face into a patchwork of angry reds as I stared up at the top of the lighthouse, trying to discern why I couldn't see the light.

It was early morning, the last dwindling moments of darkness, and usually the light would not be turned off until the sun had broken through the horizon. The chilly air and haunting silence around me created this uneasy sense of foreboding that shifted back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

Then I saw it. By the entrance of the lighthouse was a small placard, upturned by the recent storm. On it, written in a scribbly hand were four words: _Lighthouse down for maintenance_.

Petrifying trepidation filled me, and without a backward glance, I headed for the top of the lighthouse, taking two stairs at a time.

—

"Why do you like Venus so much?"

"Hm?" I narrowed my eyes, and shot back, "Why do you like sailing so much?"

"Good question." He tilted his face towards the inky sky, his eyes searching for an answer in the expanse of darkness. "I suppose it's the thrill, the exhilaration, the feeling of knowing that you're _free_ and there isn't anything that could stop you. That you are the master of yourself."

"I see," I turned away, and a few moments of companionable silence washed over us.

"By the way, you didn't answer my question. About Venus."

"Well," I shifted so that I was looking at him in the eyes, "I find it intriguing and a bit ironic that as a deathless deity, she seems so _human_. She's prone to love, anger, hate, envy, and all of the other emotions we feel. She demonstrates these traits so well. Even as a goddess, she _isn't_ perfect. None of us are. Her mercurial sentiments illustrate the impossibility of perfection."

His eyes crinkled into smiling crescents. "Thank you for your incredible insight into the depiction of Venus and your disillusion of perfection."

"Anytime."

His laughter carried into the warm summer night.

—

I saw it. There, tossed about in the waves, were smashed pieces of what once used to be his most prized possession. A still figure floated near the ruinous pieces of his small fishing boat.

Everything came into sharp focus. _Seawindnoisedeathmistsaltbreezesilencewatershorebrinewaves_. Outside, it was silent as a fine mist blanketed everything, shrouding it in a thin veil. Inside, it was a tempest. Strident voices and vivid splashes of light and dark pulsed behind my eyes, and I was drowning, drowning in this torrent of emotion, flashbacks, and memories, and everything and everything splintered and shattered and spiraled down into this atrocious cycle that kept devolving and devolving and devolving and it just Would. Not. Stop.

I felt calm, incredibly calm as I noted in the back of my mind that I was advancing to the edge of the platform where a wrought iron handrail, rusty from age, was hanging precariously over the sea.

It was only then did I realize that I was falling.

They say that in the moments before death, your entire life flashes before your eyes. They couldn't be more wrong.

I saw the graying sky, tinged golden by the tiniest slivers of sunshine. I saw the rolling waves gently lapping the shore. I saw the dilapidated state of the light house, its red and alabaster paint dulled with age. I saw the rugged rocks upon which he crashed. I saw the smoke rising from the houses in town as people began their daily routines. I saw my dark hair billowing around me. I saw the fading stars, like tiny pieces of silver strewn across the sky. I saw the ripples the sea breeze was making in my clothes.

And I was falling and falling and falling and falling and fallingandfallingandfallingandfallin—

The dark waters accepted me without complaint.

* * *

Inspired by the myth of Hero and Leander as told by Ovid.


End file.
